


The one that came back

by Trojie



Series: Stories that aren't about cats [7]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Blackmail, M/M, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob gets out of prison, and he's got two offers of employment, and his mates are waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one that came back

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by that indefatigable awesome person Unvarnishedtale, despite her having the lurgie.

Bob's release date creeps up on One Two like a snake. The Wild Bunch eke out their living as per spec; little jobs in hand, bits of cash here 'n there to Johnny and Archy for services rendered, and it's just normal, right? There were days before Bob came along, an' now there're days after Bob left. Went away. Was _put_ away. Whateverthefuck.

The bite, the sting in the tail, comes when Johnny stops by the Speeler one evening for a spin. He's fuckin' annoying as a poker player because either he has no tell at all or he's all tell - he's an overload. You can't watch Johnny and watch the rest of the table at the same time, and that's skill, right there. One Two folds early, but keeps watchin' Johnny and Fred play, just for the sport of it. And it is sport, big-game hunting, although he's buggered if he knows who's the lion and who's the man with the gun.

Johnny grins, chucks a scrunched-up coupla bills at the pot and says, 'So lads, your boy Handsome's out on Wednesday, right?'

'Yup,' says Mumbles, leanin' back on his chair. 'You anglin' for an invite to the welcome-back party, then?'

'Oh, Arch doesn't like me to put myself in the way of temptation, y'know.' Johnny drops his cards. 'I'm just wondering if he's gonna be up to his old tricks again, s'all.'

'Why's that then?' One Two says as if he doesn't care.

'Might have a bit of work for him.' Johnny's smile is toothy, pockets apparently bottomless these days, and maybe One Two preferred him when he was bony as fuck and living off a combination of crack and his wits. 'Turbo isn't getting any younger, y'know. I could use a driver who's a bit quicker off the mark.'

Under the table, One Two's fingers dig into his kneecaps, but he smiles, and says, 'You'll have to ask him when he gets out, John.' And Johnny smiles back, just as sincere, and Fred coughs to remind them that the game's still on. After ten minutes One Two excuses himself and goes out the back to the gents'. He doesn't punch a hole in the wall like he wants to - he just stares at himself in the fly-speckled mirror.

'The fuck has he done to you, One Two?' he asks himself. Again.

***

It's Wednesday, and One Two doesn't want to leave his flat. He paces, bare-foot with a mug of tea in his hand, instead.

'You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me,' says Mumbles, twirling his car keys between pinched-together forefinger and thumb. 'A year ago you drove miles to see him, an' now you can't even be bothered to go to your local.' He squints a bit shrewd-like and says, 'You wanna avoid our Bob now, then?'

'Look, I just –' One Two starts, and stops. Because he doesn't know what he just, except that he wants the world to fucking stay still for once, to stop turning upside down on him, and Bob always seems to be the point it's tipping on. 'I can't get my head straight,' he confesses.

Mumbles pushes him down onto a dining-chair, and sits opposite him. He puts the car-keys down – click.

'Be straight with me, yeah?' he says. 'You an' Bob had a fling, am I right?'

One Two swallows hard. 'It was –'

'His last night as a free man, yeah mate, I know,' Mumbles says. 'You showed him a good time. Said it before, and I'll say it again – that's what mates do for each other. Fair play to you both.' He pauses, tilts his head a little like he's thinking 'bout exactly how to say something. 'But it's messed you up, innit. Cos you think, maybe bein' a poof's alright for our Bob, but you're not one. Right?'

'Right,' says One Two hoarsely. 'I'm _not_. He's my mate, alright?'

Mumbles grins like he's won, and leans back. 'Right then, so what's your problem? One Two, my son, you're over-thinkin' it. If you sleep with a blonde bird, dun't mean you're blondes-only. You took a test-drive, that's all. You didn't sign nothin'.'

He gets up. 'Now, Bob's your mate, no matter what else happened between you. And he's just got out of the slammer. So what are you gonna do?'

One Two runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. Mumbles is right, at least about the last part - Bob's his mate, no matter what. 'Gimme five minutes to find some shoes,' he says, and retreats into his bedroom. _Test-drive._ Fine. That's fine. Didn't sign up as a card-carrying gay man. It was just a test-drive. Doesn't force him to buy the bloody car, to push the fuckin' metaphor.

'Course, you only take a test-drive if you're tempted, don't you.

***

Bob's put on prison-shape – big upper body compared to the rest of him – thanks to weight-training. From sheer boredom, One Two suspects. He did the same thing himself before he discovered treadmills and endurance-running.

'Mate,' Bob says, nods, holds out his hand to shake. It ends up as one of those handshake-shoulder-bump, one-armed hugs and One Two doesn't know which of them started it, but it's good to feel the solid shape of Bob against him. The Wild Bunch is complete again. They drink, they smoke, they do one or two things that maybe the Old Bill might be interested in, but fuck it. Bob's _back_. Their fucking reform programmes and courses and everything haven't changed him. He came back. That's worth it if anything is.

'Young man Johnny's bin askin' after you, Handsome,' says Fred with a grin. 'Reckon he might have a bit o' work goin'.'

'That right?' Bob replies lazily, leaning up against the pool table all slouchy-like. 'Was thinking I might keep my head down for a while, y'know? My uncle runs a pub – offered me bar work for a while.' One Two looks up sharply at that, and Bob ducks his head and grins a bit sheepishly. 'Me mum wants me to take it. Not forever, just for long enough to let people forget about me, s'all.'

'Well, you know Johnny,' says Fred. 'You'll have to tell him that first thing, if you don't want it. Or he'll talk you into it good and proper before you know what's happened.'

'Oh, I can handle John,' says Bob, and he smiles at Fred but his eyes are on One Two. Then he straightens up, with maybe a bit of a stagger, and says, 'Scuse me, lads, but I've gotta see a man about a dog,' and heads off in the direction of the gents'. He glances back over his shoulder at One Two. Glances back, like 'come on, follow me.'

One Two drains his pint. He waits a minute. Waits two. Bob doesn't come back.

Fuck it. Probly just wants a word, like, somewhere Mumbles won't hear. They used to do that sometimes, just like One Two and Mumbles occasionally need a private word, and Bob and Mumbles do too. Sometimes you just need to say something without all that other rabble chiming in, right?

One Two puts down his glass, belches manfully, and wanders off like the only thing on his mind is his bladder, and not talking to Bob alone for the first time in two years.

The door to the gents' has always squeaked. The lack of maintenance round here apparently counts as atmosphere, also you don't want registered tradesmen comin' sniffin' round a place like this. One Two pushes through into the faint piss-urinal cake-Dettol smell, and Bob is right there, in his space.

'You came to see me,' he says quietly. His hands are by his sides and his stance is hard and deliberate. 'When I was banged up, you came to see me.'

'Seemed like the right thing to do,' One Two says, swallowing to try and moisten his suddenly-dry throat. 'We're mates.'

'I don't deserve my fucking mates,' Bob says. He's got an edge of slur to his voice. He's standing like he's concentrating hard on it. He's drunk, in a word. He's fucking wankered. One Two isn't much better, but at least he knows it. 'Nearly got us all in the shit, didn't I?'

'You kept us out of it,' One Two points out. 'You din't have to take that fall, Bobby.'

'Don't call me Bobby,' Bob says. He licks his lips. 'The job goin' south ain't the half of it. You don't know. You don't know how much I can't get shit out of my head.' He licks his lips, and says almost in a whisper, 'I'm sorry, One Two.'

'Sorry for what?'

'Because I have to –' Bob says, and takes One Two's jawline in his hands, and tugs his head down, and presses their mouths together like he's been starving these two years. And at the taste of him - smoky, boozy, familiar - One Two realises he's been hungry too. He pushes forward to hold Bob around the waist, and they stumble back against the door, which squeaks in protest against their weight. One Two doesn't care. One Two has an itch he can't scratch.

'Christ, just - please -' Bob says, sloppy and slow. His hands drag down One Two's body until they find his fly, and before One Two has much chance to register what's happening Bob is on his knees and licking him through his boxers. 'Let me,' Bob's sayin'. 'You're gonna let me, One Two.'

One Two lets him. Who the fuck, with red blood in his veins, could say no to that?

He chokes out 'God, I missed you,' as he comes, and Bob leans into him, sucks him through it, resists One Two's hand trying to pull him to his feet and keeps mouthing at One Two even as he shudders and comes into his own hand, still crouched on the scummy floor. And he says, 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' as he does it.

They neither of them move for a second - breathing hard, eyes closed. But then Bob goes to the sink to wash his hands, head hanging, not looking back. His shoulders stand out like rocks, broad and solid. One Two puts a hand between them. 'Hey, Bob,' he says, but Bob doesn't turn. ' _Bob_.'

'Look, just fuck off out of here, alright?' Bob says, in a voice that's got a laugh in it even though it's strained. 'If someone comes lookin', this is gonna be awkward.'

'Will you talk to me for a second?'

'Course mate, just not here.' He still not looking. One Two tries to pull him round, but he shrugs him off. 'Please, One Two,' he says hoarsely, dropping the attempt at humour or normality. 'Not here. Not now.'

'Alright,' One Two agrees. 'Not here.' He does up his trousers, wipes his hands on the towel, goes to the door. Hesitates.

'One Two?' Bob says.

'Yeah, mate?'

'I'm really fucking sorry. I shouldn've – I know it was only s'posed to be the once, yeah? I do know.' He turns around at last, and his eyes are red and his mouth is redder, stretched wide and soft. 'I won't let it happen again, I swear.'

One Two should say thanks, or yes, or that that's okay, Bobby-boy, we all make mistakes. Don't mention it.

Instead he says, 'You can, if you like.'

We all make mistakes.

***

The Speeler's always a bit quieter when Archy's in. Today he's trailing Johnny, who's usually good enough at keeping everyone calm and happy, but the truth is, they're here for a reason.

'Where's young Bob then?' Archy asks after he's had half his pint. He puts the glass down and looks around. 'Not gone straight now, has he?'

'He's London's newest bartender tonight,' says Mumbles, dealing for Fred and Cookie. 'Doin' a bit of work for his uncle for a while, keepin' his head down.' He looks up, deck in hand. 'D'you want in, John? Arch?'

'Not me, thanks,' says Archy, but Johnny, predictably, sits down to get dealt in. 'Being prudent is he? He always had the wisest head of the lot of you.'

'I'll be sure and tell him you said so,' One Two says, smiling briefly. He can't help but like Archy. Admittedly, he's also shit-scared of him on occasions, but that's neither here nor there. He gets his phone out. 'You want him for something, Arch?'

'No hurry, no hurry.' Archy drains the rest of his pint. 'You just let him know, next time you see him, that Johnny here has a bit of work he might be interested in. That's all. C'mon, John.' He gets up.

'Have another pint, Arch,' says Johnny. 'We haven't finished this hand yet. I swear, this'll be the only one.'

'I should hope so,' Archy says, waving for another drink. 'After all, you've got me behind the wheel tonight, don't you?' His expression is unreadable, but One Two's willing to bet he's not thrilled.

Johnny smiles his sharp little smile. 'Not for long, I hope.'

'I'll let Bob know,' One Two says, trying not to get in the middle of their little conversation. He flips his phone open to text, because he's damn sure Bob can't answer a call while he's on the bar, but he might be able to read a text if things are slow enough. _A+J got job for you_ he says, abbreviating names out of habit - the boys in blue can read anything you send these days. He almost hits 'send', and then, on the spur of the moment, adds _what time you get off?_.

Archy and Johnny have gone on their merry before he gets a reply.

 _Tell A+J not interested. Off at 12._

It's eleven-thirty. _plans for the evening?_ One Two texts back. He means drinks, of course he does. He means drinks, or a game of pool, meeting up with the boys. Maybe a talk about this job Arch and Johnny want Bob for - if it's on the wrong side, then One Two and Mumbles oughtta know about it, after all.

His phone beeps. _being flat on my back in bed_ is the reply. Before One Two can come up with something to say back, it beeps again. _wanna help me get there? ;)_

***

When One Two looks back at this he's gonna remember how he acted, and he's gonna wonder. He's gonna remember he was off his head with how good it was.

But for now there's Bob's warm palm skimming up his spine, pushing him gently and slowly and surely into the mattress and getting in, getting deep, his broad, muscled prison-built frame boxing One Two in. He knows what One Two wants. He knows One Two doesn't _want_ to think about what he's doing. So he talks all the time, tells One Two every single thing he's going to do before he does it, every filthy fantasy, and doesn't expect One Two do a thing but take what he's given.

And One Two does, because the world goes away in the dark between the sheets as sure as it does in the fog at the bottom of a bottle or the endlessness of a treadmill, and it doesn't matter as long as they both want it, does it? It's safe, down in the dark.

***

It takes two weeks for someone to catch them in the act; twisted up together in the alleyway out the back of the pub Bob's been working in. Bob's mouth is fastened over One Two's pulse-point and he's showing One Two how to stroke them both at once, both their cocks silky smooth-wet- _wrong_ and so good in his palm, with Bob's hand wrapped over his almost tenderly, driving his movements.

They aren't even out of their clothes, just shoved together close with enough buttons undone, but it's fairly fuckin' obvious what they're about, isn't it?

Archy coughs.

Bob chokes, and steps in front of One Two like he's trying to shield him.

'Sorry lads,' Archy says calmly, as if he's interrupting a business meeting. 'But Mister Quid wants a word with Bob here sharpish.' And he waits, fuckin' _waits_ , while they do up their flies and straighten their shirts.

Bob flicks half a glance at One Two but his attention, and One Two doesn't blame him, is on Archy and his don't-let's-keep-Mister-Quid-waiting manner. Bob pushes past towards the bar, and One Two hangs back. He'll wait a decent few minutes before following, just like they always do. Archy lingers too, though.

'One Two, my old son,' he says mildly, a bit fatherly. 'Don't be a stupid bleeder.'

'Bit late,' says One Two.

'I can see that. If you'll take my advice –'

'I won't. No offence, Arch, but if I'm gonna fuck up, I'll fuck up on my own terms.'

Archy smiles grimly. 'Oh, sunshine. You'll do that alright if you keep on with Bob.' And then his expression turns serious. 'Are you tellin' him not to work for Johnny?'

'No.'

'Because, One Two, Bob is not your property to be telling us to stay off. He's a talented young man, is Bob, and Johnny has a use for him. And Johnny owns this particular part of town, just like Lenny before him.'

'I swear, Archy, I never would. You and Johnny've done right by us in the past, why would I do a thing like that?' One Two has to concentrate to keep his voice even and in control. He's not up to taking Archy on, and that's a fact, but he's still got his pride, still needs to keep some respect.

'Good, that's good. I wouldn't like to hear you were turning your back on our friendship.' He looks One Two up and down slowly, and adds, 'Rumour's a nasty thing, after all.'

And that's Arch all over. He's your mate, right up until you run up against his boss. And then he'll take you to pieces, with no offence intended at all - it's just that you got in his way. He tips a little wave at One Two and walks back to the bar.

If he thinks it'd do the trick, get Johnny what he wants, Archy'd tell everyone what he just saw. Oh yes. He won't just yet, because you gotta let a threat sit for a while, but if he doesn't get things done, he'll do it.

They're gonna have to be careful, so fuckin' careful.

One Two waits. And waits. Eventually Bob comes out, and his face is pale under the light from distant streetlamps. 'Given my notice here,' he says. 'Johnny wants me driving for him two nights a week. Special jobs, he says. Won't let it interfere with anythin' the Wild Bunch have goin' on. And this,' he adds, pointing at himself and then at One Two, 'has got to stop.'

'Did he say that to you?' One Two demands.

'No,' Bob says. His mouth is a hard flat line, his hands tucked in his pockets, legs braced in a fighter's stance, like he thinks they're gonna have a go over this. 'I'm saying it to you. We're being fuckin' stupid, One Two, and if you won't stop it, I will.'

'Okay,' says One Two, trying to be reasonable. 'We can take more care -'

'It's too late,' Bob says. 'We've been caught. We'll get caught again.' He looks away, takes a breath. 'The more we hide, the worse it'll be. Trust me.'

'What can I do to convince you that we can make this work?' One Two asks, which is fuckin' ridiculous - he never begged a bird not to finish with him, and he's proud of that, and Bob isn't a bird but this is too close to begging for One Two's liking.

'Tell the boys,' Bob says, and searches One Two's face for his reaction.

'No fuckin' way,' One Two snaps, reflexively, and Bob's eyes close for a split second like One Two's punched him.

When he opens them again, he says 'Then it can't work. You _know_ about gossip, One Two. You know. Secrets only ever come back to bite you in the arse. Either we do this or we don't. Your call.'

And he's still looking, waiting, the way he looked and waited the night this whole clusterfuck began. _I want you_. Three little words to ruin everything between them, and they've spent so long to build it back, and now One Two has three little words of his own.

'No fuckin' way,' he says again, like he can't control himself. 'I'm not a flaming poof,' he adds, defensive and angry, to try and get Bob to stop _looking_ at him like that.

'Fine,' says Bob.

And that appears to be it.


End file.
